


Teenagers

by liquid_dreams



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 09:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6798955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquid_dreams/pseuds/liquid_dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're pretty scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Michael and Trevor are high school kids in this, roughly around the same age. I can't imagine them being anything but little shits from the start.

1.

"Hey you! Wait!" 

Trevor didn't turn around. His usual way home led past the football field and those guys usually didn't stop to chat with the 'weird kid'. 

"I said wait!"

He threw a look over his shoulder when he heard someone jog up to him. It was the chubby guy who'd only recently moved into town, but immediately seemed to fit in. 

"What do you want?" Trevor drawled and adjusted his grip on his backpack pre-emptively.

"Wow, I just wanted to say hi. I'm Michael Townley." He grinned and offered his hand to Trevor.

"Trevor Philips," he replied as he took it warily. 

Despite his soft exterior Michael had a strong grip. Trevor looked up from their joined hands and made the mistake of looking into the other boy's eyes. They were the brightest shade of blue he'd ever seen. 

"Townley, get back here before you catch something," Jack Adams yelled from where the team was doing warm ups. His words were followed by hoots and laughter.

Trevor tensed and withdrew his hand. Michael's brows furrowed briefly as he turned back towards the field.

"Yeah yeah, coming," he shouted He threw an apologetic look at Trevor before he jogged back. 

Trevor watched him jog up to Adams and punch his shoulder, talking to him with a stern expression. Adams just laughed and shook his head. He felt strangely touched before he caught himself. Townley probably pitied him; the kid with the dirty worn clothes and unkempt hair. He hated it when people did that. It woke that violent spark in his chest that demanded blood. 

Later that afternoon, Susan Collins' cat went missing. She was inconsolable for a week.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

He waited until the old lady had left Johnson's Cornerstore before he moved. It was half past nine and dusk was creeping in on Carcer City, bringing a cool breeze with it. Even though it was the middle of summer there was a permanent coolness in the air that was unique to the region. The Canadian border was so close that one could walk over within an hour. It suited Trevor just fine as he had access to everything he needed without having to buy a car. After his last trek to a dealer he knew up there Trevor felt the drugs rush through his system. Everything had a sort of hazy clarity that let him focus on the important things.   
There was no car in sight as he casually strolled across the street and he'd made sure earlier that the streetlight above the shop was out via his trusty slingshot. He maintained that one had to be creative these days to archieve their goals. In his case the goal was a bottle of liquor and a pack of smokes for his mom before she noticed they were gone and had another shit fit. It was one of the uglier parts of town so people were less inclined to pay attention to stuff going on outside their windows. The houses were all run down and in dire need of a new paintjob; overflowing trashcans attracted rats and strays. It was on the outer edge of the city close to the woods so there were plenty of escape routes. In short: perfect for a hit and run. 

Trevor casually leaned against the wall next to the entrance to peer inside. The old balding guy who ran the store was reading a newspaper and smoking a cigar stump. As far as he could see there were no other people. He was about to sweep in through the door when he heard a door bang open a few houses down. He started when he recognized Michael Townley carrying a trashbag outside. Even though Trevor quickly turned his face aside he knew he'd been seen.

"Hey Philips," the big oaft shouted and waved. 

"Fucking hell," Trevor groaned.

The old guy inside put his paper down and frowned before he began to walk to the store entrance. Trevor made a run for it, seeing as the only hiding spot was behind the dumpster in front of Townley's house.

"What's up-"

"Shut the fuck up and get down," Trevor snarled.

"Whoa, what are you-"

Trevor kicked at his leg which made him lose his balance and crash down out of sight. He watched the clerk look up and down the street before he went back in. Trevor breathed a sigh of relief, before he felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder.

"Philips." 

"Fuck off," Trevor snarled and shook the hand off before he stood up abruptly. "You ruined my haul, jackass."

Townely looked at him with an inscrutable expression before he shrugged with one shoulder. A stab of indignant rage went through Trevor and he swirled around to walk off in direction of the trailer park. 

"Old man Johnson keeps a shotgun under his counter," Townley called after him. "Just so you know."

Trevor clenched his jaw and picked up his pace. Fucking Townley.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

"Mr. Philips, where is your homework?" 

"A dog ate it," Trevor droned. 

"Are you trying to be funny, Mr. Philips? This is the fifth time this week that you turn up without homework. I won't let this slide anymore."

"Well I didn't fucking do it, alright?" 

"What did you just say?!"

"I said, I didn't fucking do it." Trevor's head was resting on his left palm and he was staring unseeingly out of the window. The weed in his system made him too lazy to even get angry.

"That's it! Philips, detention!" Mrs. Anderson screeched.

Trevor tore his eyes away from the window and glared at Amanda Blake and her gaggle of cheerleader friends who were giggling at him. When they saw him looking they quickly shut up and looked away. One of the benefits of being a notorious and well known troublemaker, in his opinion, was that girls either feared or loved him. Trevor wasn't picky. Mrs. Anderson glared at him, but since he had detention anyway he just yawned and started drawing doodles into his notebook. It was only math, that shit was easy.   
Instead his mind kept drifting towards Michael Townley as it did so often these days. Trevor just couldn't figure him out. At first he seemed your typical run-of-the-mill jock, but then he had to go and be nice and helpful, too. He got the uncanny feeling that there was way more to the guy than met the eye. How did he even know about Johnson's gun? Had he looked for it specifically? And if so, did he plan to get a haul himself? It seemed absurd, but Trevor had looked him in the eye before. He'd seen something calculating, brilliant and dangerous that made him feel all tingly when he thought about it. Maybe it was time to drop the cold shoulder act and give in to his curiosity.


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Ironically Michael found him first. Trevor was just finishing off his blunt in the smoking corner behind the school building, absently flicking the ashes away, when Michael rounded the corner with his hands in his letterman jacket's pockets. 

"Hey man," he drawled lazily. 

"Is that a blunt?" Michael asked bemused.

"Was one. Gotta try to get through classes without murdering anyone."

The slightly shorter boy looked as if he was trying to decide whether Trevor was kidding or not. It sent him into a fit of giggles. When he righted himself back up and wiped at his face, he saw Michael roll his eyes. 

"Hey Townley, want a hit?" He grinned and offered the still smouldering rest of the joint to him. 

"No thanks, I don't smoke." Townley shrugged. 

"Well then why the fuck did you come here?" All pretense of friendliness dropped from Trevor. A rejection was still a rejection. 

Townley held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Calm down, man. It's about the other day."

"What about it, huh?"

"You seemed to know what you were doing." Townley eyed him with a shrewd expression. "Ever rob a store before?"

Trevor stared blankly at him. When the slightly smaller boy merely raised an impatient eyebrow, he began to laugh for real.

"Shit, Townley, you're hilarious."

"Great, now could you answer the question?" 

Trevor grinned broadly at the flare of temper on the other's face. This was just getting better and better. 

"Sure did."

Michael let out a sigh and rolled his shoulders. "Good."

Trevor crossed his arms and waited for him to stop looking constipated. Or maybe he was just thinking hard. The other boy looked him up and down with a critical expression which sent a twinge of insecurity through Trevor. Townley was a little chubby, but definitely strong underneath. He filled out his letterman jacket nicely and his strong angular jaw combined with those blue eyes made Trevor feel inadequate by comparison. Finally, Townley rubbed at his jaw and looked him in the eye.

"Listen, this stays between us. There's a nice little post office over in Stapleton that I've had my eye on. However, I need a crew to do this job." He looked at ease, but there was a tension around his eyes that intrigued Trevor. "Are you in?"

"You got a plan, huh?" 

"There's another guy I've talked to, real brainiac. Said he was gonna come up with something if he gets 20% of the share."

Trevor whistled. "Twenty percent, huh? That's a lot."

"It's worth it, trust me." 

"Fine, I'm in." Trevor shrugged and ran a hand through his wild unkempt hair. "Man Townley, I underestimated you."

"Most people do." Townley grinned wolfishly and Trevor felt something unfurl in his stomach at the sight.

The school bell rang, signaling the start of the last class of the day. Townley's head snapped in direction of the school entrance with a curse. 

"Hey Townley, wanna grab a burger after class?" Trevor called after him.

"Sure." 

Trevor spat on the ground and watched him go until he disappeared in the main entrance. He felt weird and fluttery and for once it wasn't from drugs.


	5. Chapter 5

5.

After school Trevor made his way over to the only burger joint in town. It was a dingy banged-up place that looked like it hadn't changed since the fifties. The surface of the plastic tables was cracked and peeling, the once blue linoleum floor a sad dirty grey and the waitress a huge burly woman with beady eyes. Trevor felt right at home. He'd ordered a milkshake and paid with the money he'd managed to shake out of Wade, a stuttering weird kid that lived a few trailers down from him. He wondered whether Townley was actually gonna show his mug or if this was all some sort of elaborate prank. For Townley's sake he hoped it was the former.   
When the huge ancient coffee machine finally stopped rattling five minutes later Trevor thought he saw someone ride a bike down the street through the dirty windows. The waitress stomped over with a sinister expression. By comparinson, the papercup looked woefully tiny in her enormous meaty hands.

"I know you. You're that troublemaker from the trailer park. Don't make a mess or I'll skin you," the waitress grunted as she put down his milkshake with more force than necessary. 

"Me? Make a mess? I'd never, don't worry love." Trevor smirked and took a long draw of something milky and vaguely banana flavored.

With a last withering glare she turned around and stomped back behind the counter. Just as she'd picked her newsmag back up the door swung open and Townley came in. He met Trevor's gaze and quirked a smile at him before he ordered a milkshake as well, much to the dismay of the waitress. 

"She's a scary one, huh?" Townley said as he plopped down on the seat opposite Trevor. 

"Now, that's not very nice," Trevor couldn't contain a smirk, "She's lovely."

"Whatever man." The other boy shook his head with a snicker. "You like 'em old and fat?"

"A hole is a hole," Trevor leered. 

Townley let out a bark of laughter. "You're fucking crazy." 

For some reason it didn't bother Trevor when he said that. He leaned back in the booth and crossed his long legs under the table, grinning conspiratorially. 

"And here we are! What does that say about you? If your football buddies find out they're gonna ask questions."

"They won't. I was careful. Besides they're all stupid as shit," Townley said dismissively. 

"That's true," Trevor conceded. "Ah, here comes your milkshake."

"You'd better not make a mess, either." The burly waitress grunted at Townley.

"No ma'am."

Trevor snickered as she shuffled back to her newsmag. Townley shot him a dirty look before he took a pull. 

"Shit, this doesn't taste like strawberry at all."

"So anyway," Trevor drawled, "I'm really enjoying this date so far, but was there something you wanted to talk about?"

Townley stared at him with big eyes before he started choking. When he was done coughing his lungs out his cheeks were pink. 

"This is not a date. We're here because Lester contacted me."

"Don't ruin the mood," Trevor sighed heavily. "What'd this Lester say?"

"He snooped around a bit, checked for security cameras and shit." Townley lowered his voice and glanced at the waitress, but she was engrossed in her mag. "Looks like there's only two tellers at most plus one manager. The manager keeps in the back room with a safe, the tellers only have access to a register each. It's not a busy station so we shouldn't enounter too many people. There are two security cameras, one looking at the front doors, one in the back with the manager. If we play this smart we could make inbetween five to nine hundred."

Trevor had unconsciously leaned forward to listen better and hummed thoughtfully. That wasn't a sum to shake your head at. When the waitress coughed Townley, who'd leaned closer as well, guiltily jumped back in his seat. 

"Who is that guy, Lester?" He asked.

"Nerdy kid, big glasses, inhalator. One years below us."

"Huh. Don't think I've ever seen him around," Trevor mused. 

"Yeah I stumbled across him by accident. He hangs out in the computer lab outside classes."

"Maybe I should shake him out some time. Crafty assholes like him probably got a bunch of money to part with."

"Don't," Townley snapped with a frown, "Leave the kid alone, Philips. He's useful."

"I'm sorry are you telling me what to do?" 

Townley stared him right in the eyes. Trevor tensed as an electric current seemed to pass between them in their battle of wills. He felt irked and increasingly irritated, but there was something that held him back from lashing out. There was something about Townley. Something commanding that made it hard to say no. It was Trevor who looked away first. 

"Fuck," he snarled and balled his fists on the table. 

"Just take it easy man," Townley took a long pull of his milkshake before he pushed it away. "Trust me that kid is a blessing. He's got connections, you know?"

"Fuck his connections. What kinds of connections does some skinny fourteen year old nerd have?" 

"Apparently people owe him favors for fixing their tech. He's got a knack for that stuff."

"Wonderful, so he'll get to sit on his ass while we do all the heavy lifting?"

"Would you keep your voice down," Townley was starting to look pissed, "Are you too scared to do this, or what?"

"Fuck no." Trevor took a deep breath and tried to exhale his tension. "I just haven't done anything that could end up with me in jail before. Permanently, I mean."

Townley's expression softened just the slightest bit. "Me either. I live alone with my mom, you know. She keeps dragging us from town to town, and I guess I'm just tired of scraping by. I feel like there's gotta be something more out there, something bigger and better. I don't want to end up with some boring nine to five job like the rest of these poor sods. I want to make my own destiny."

Trevor listened with growing astonishment, because this guy got it. It was hard to keep a cool facade over the excitement bubbling up in him. 

"Now we're on the same page," he grinned broadly.

A shy smile was on Townley's face as he looked at the table and rubbed at his neck. "Guess so. Huh."


	6. Chapter 6

6.

Even after Trevor's father had finally left for good five years ago, not many things had chaned. His mother was still out working the streets most of the time while his no-good brother sat on his lazy fat ass to smoke weed in front of the tv. Neither of them gave a shit about him and had no problem letting him know it. 

"Hey Trev, get me another beer," grunted Ryan while he scratched his enormous belly. 

Trevor, who had given up real quickly to be a good son and brother, flipped him the bird and continued leafing through a booklet his science teacher gave him. It contained information on the Canadian Air Force and their recruiting process. As Trevor was born in Canada, he had the right to join. In the rare instances when he let himself daydream he always envisioned himself high up in the air where his demons couldn't reach him and he was free. 

"You little shit, I told you to bring me a beer." 

"Get it yourself, you useless bastard." Trevor hissed. 

"Just wait till mom gets back. I'm telling her you called me a bastard."

"Fuck you," Trevor snarled and stood up, stomping over to the fridge. 

Even though his mother was a hard woman with no love to spare, Trevor kept needing her approval. Always looking for the motherly affection he knew he deserved. Besides, late fall in North Yankton meant that it was already snowing and if his mother was displeased with him she would kick him out of the trailer for the night. It burned him that she always favored Ryan, who grew to be more and more like their dad every year. Ryan, who never worked a day in his life, who had no job and no ambition, got all the little scraps of affection Trevor craved. The envy and resentment were like acid in his guts, slowly burning their way through his system. He watched Ryan burp and shovel more chips into his mouth, his beady eyes fixed on the splatter movie playing on TV. Just like their father, except Ryan was too lazy to get up and beat the shit out of him. The memories of bruises burned all over his thin body. 

"Didya fall asleep back there, ya little faggot? Do I need to get up and break yer fuckin' nose?"

A red mist crept in on the edges of Trevor's vision as he felt something inside him break irreversibly. All the years of denied affection and verbal abuse coalesced into a haze of fury that had him break the beer bottle over his brother's skull. 

"AAGH! WHAT THE FUCK YOU LITTLE PSYCHO?!" 

Trevor didn't stop. Ryan jerked off the couch and tried to shield his head, but Trevor jumped him and used the broken bottle to slash at him until the blood spurted up in his face. When the bottle didn't cut it anymore, he used his fists. One of Ryan's fists caught him in the jaw, but he hardly noticed it. Even though his brother had seven years and at least a hundred pounds on him, Trevor didn't budge. At one point the flailing stopped, but Trevor couldn't stop slamming his fists down in the hated face. Vaguely he registered a sickly crunching and a noticeable increase of the blood flowing from Ryan's head.   
When his haze cleared, Trevor blinked and stared down at the bloody remains of his brother's bloated face. The second thing he noticed was that the broad chest he was sitting on stopped rising and falling. His stomach lurched sickly and he jumped up. 

"Get up, you lazy fuck!" He yelled, but his voice broke at the end.

Scrambling frantically for their phone, Trevor tried to dial 911 and call for an ambulance. The phone slipped out of his slick fingers again and again. It suddenly struck him that while his mother might hurt him for beating Ryan, she would definitely kill him if he brought the cops to the trailer. He dropped the phone with a shudder. Trevor jerked when he realized that his arms were covered in blood. He stumbled over to the sink and fumbled with the faucet to wash it off. The metallic stench of blood made his stomach roil. People were gonna ask questions and his mother... god, his mother. Trevor let out a panicked sob and stumbled out of the trailer. He needed to get away.


	7. Chapter 7

7.

"Michael, darling, there's someone at the door. They're asking for you." 

Michael looked up from his math homework and frowned. There was a distinctive note of tension in his mother's voice that made him grab the switchblade he kept in a drawer before he headed down taking the stairs two at a time. 

"Philips?!" Michael skidded to a stop when he saw the other guy's bloodsplattered face and dripping wet shirt. 

"You know this guy?" His mother narrowed her eyes at him.

"I – yeah, we met at school." Michael glared at Philips, who was just kind of staring into space and held back the 'unfortunately' he wanted to add.

Across the street Mrs. Miller's lace curtains twitched suspiciously. The last thing he needed were curious eyes on his home, so he beckoned him in.

"Get in here, man." He glared across the street.

Upon closer inspection he noticed that Philips was trembling and leaning heavily on the doorframe. Whatever happened to the guy must've shaken him up good. It was a wonder he even made it over from the trailer park. Very gently he put his arm around Philips' shoulder and took most of his weight on him. The slightly taller boy stiffened at his touch, but let himself be led into their cramped livingroom. Michael noticed the furtive glances he shot at his mother eyes darting around nervously, never settling on her for too long. 

"Uh, mom, I got this."

"Fine." She glanced inbetween them and frowned. "I'll get him a towel. Martha's coming to pick me up in five minutes."

"Right." Michael crouched down in front of him and pushed at Philips' shoulders until he was leaning back against the couch.

Once he heard her head upstairs for their bathroom, Philips seemed to calm down. The intensity in his stare was coming back little by little.

"What the fuck," Michael asked flatly, "What did you do?"

That certainly had an effect on Philips. He jumped up, nearly knocking Michael off balance, and began to pace in a tight jerky circle. 

"I may have killed my brother."

Michael's eyes widened. "What?!"

"It's not like he didn't have it coming," Trevor snarled, "That stupid, fat, no-good sack of shit!"

Michael got up from his knees to sit on the couch. "So why'd you come here?"

"Now that! Is a good question." Philips stabbed a finger in his direction with a manic grin. "You're catching on, Townley. I need your help with gettin' rid of the body before mom comes home."

Michael stared at him kind of blankly. "How?"

"You've never dumped a body before?!"

"No!" Michael snapped.

"Really?" Philips paused his pacing to look at him with a furrowed brow, "I thought you were in the game. What, with all that talk about robberies and shit! I thought you know what you're doing."

"Shit man, I rob people," Michael threw his hands up in exasperation, "I don't fucking kill 'em!"

They both froze when they heard the stairs creak as Mrs. Townley came back with a fluffy blue towel in her hand. She'd removed the curlers from her hair and put on some makeup. Trevor snapped to attention immediately. She gave both of them a stern look, but mostly Michael.

"Mikey, don't be such a bad host. Get him a glass of water at least!" 

Michael scrambled to obey and quickly grabbed the cleanest looking glass. He kept glancing over his shoulder to where his mother put the towel around Philips' neck. It was kind of hilarious how he looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Michael returned and handed the glass over. A car honked outside and Mrs. Townley straightened her shawl.

"I'll be off, you two behave!" She pointed sternly at Michael and Philips. "Get him one of your shirts Mikey, they should fit. Be back at nine."

"Yes, ma'am." Philips said meekly.

"Sure," Michael grunted. 

They watched her leave in silence. Michael raised an eyebrow at Philips, who looked very young and uncertain until she was out of the door. When he noticed Michael staring his head snapped around and he bared his teeth.

"Got something to say, Townley?"

"Yeah. I'm getting you a dry shirt." Michael retorted quickly. "Meanwhile you're gonna think of a way to get rid of the.. the body."

"Will do, Mikey." Philips gave him a lazy mock-salute. 

Michael rolled his eyes heavenward as soon as his back was turned to him. He silently asked himself what he'd done in a past life to deserve Philips' psychotic ass. The meagre contents of his drawer consisted of five clean shirts and two dirty ones. He carefully picked out the one he liked the least. It was a white shirt that was well on its way to grey from washing with the 'Dusche' logo in front. While Michael was a little heavier than Philips, it should fit him just fine. On second thought he grabbed his old winter jacket that had grown to small for him as well. Philips had arrived with just a worn plaid shirt on him and no jacket, and if they were really going to get rid of a body it wouldn't do if one of them was too stiff too move. He still couldn't quite believe that he was about to assist a murderer, so he did what he always did and compartimentalized. There would be time to freak out later. He stomped back downstairs to find Philips staring at one of the family pictures. Michael cleared his throat. 

"Got you dry clothes." He said as he pushed the shirt and jacket at him. 

Philips took them wordlessly and began to strip out of his wet shirt immediately. Michael caught sight of a few faint scars on his torso, but they were quickly hidden beneath the Dusche logo. He averted his eyes and glanced at the picture Philips'd been looking at. Michael was about ten in it. Someone had very carefully cut his father out. He looked back and found Philips zipping up his jacket. 

"So what's the plan?"

"I was thinkin'," Philips looked strangely calm, "There's this group of hippies in the forest behind the trailer park. Got a couple friends there. They'll help." 

"How are we gonna get him.... the body.. there?"

"Well," said Philips with a careless shrug, "The carpet's ruined anyway."

Michael rolled his shoulders to relieve some of the tension that was accumulating there. There were too many risks, too many holes in that plan. Just one slip up could ruin them. He should just throw Philips out and call the police. It's what any good sane person would do. Philips looked at him with a partly hopeful partly shrewd expression, like he was expecting Michael to turn him down. He couldn't explain it, but something made him unwilling to do just that. Michael took a deep breath and pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up.

"Come the fuck on, then." He sighed.

There was a flash of surprise and delight in Philips' eyes as Michael put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the front door.

"Hey hold up, you guys got some bleach around here?" 

"What for?"

"Stains."

"Ugh," Michael jogged up the stairs again.

There was a single bottle of bleach beneath the sink and he put it in his backpack. 

"Anything else?"

"Got a car?"

"No."

Philips procured a small piece of metal from one of his pants' pockets with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Michael let out a small laugh of surprise. 

"No way, dude."

"Have some faith, man." Philips shook his head in mock disapproval. "Now let's go, mom could come home any minute."

"Jesus," Michael sighed and followed Philips out of the front door.

**Author's Note:**

> ~The hardest part of writing's gotta be reigning in my addiction to putting commas everywhere. ~


End file.
